My Legacy

I stepped off the elevator and saw the two of them sitting alone in the hallway, their eyes focused on the floor and their hands folded in their laps. No doubt they were overwhelmed by the size of this hospital. After all, they'd hardly ever been in a hospital, not even the small one near their hometown. Four of their five children, including me, had been born in their country home, delivered by a neighboring midwife. Although Mom made it to the hospital to deliver their fifth child, as circumstances would have it, her youngest was delivered in the elevator-once again without a doctor.

"Fifty-one years together and never so much as a broken bone," I thought. "They'll get through this too," but I couldn't help but notice they didn't look as strong as I had always pictured them. I saw them often, but I never noticed how fragile they had become, sitting together in that enormous hallway.

Mom looked up. Her face brightened and she tugged on Dad's sleeve. "There's Marie," she whispered. Her face was pale, but her blue eyes still sparkled. Dad claimed they always lit up when one of the kids was around. Maybe they did because her eyes looked too young to have so many lines around them. I can't remember Mom's eyes being dull even when she was ill.

Dad jumped up. "Here, sit down. They told us to wait here. How was the traffic?"He seemed relieved to be able to move about, asking questions, talking about mundane things. Mom, on the other hand, remained quiet. Either afraid she'd disturb the patients, or perhaps too nervous to speak out loud-too afraid she'd cry, she never spoke above a whisper the entire time we waited.

I took Dad's seat and held Mom's hand. "Have you been waiting long?" I asked. Mom shook her head and Dad told me that they should be coming to get her pretty soon.

"Dr. Johns heard a gurgling noise in Mom's neck when he examined her, " Dad explained, "and the next thing you know here we are." I smiled, thinking about how Dad always called my mother "Mom" when we were kids. It was funny to hear him revert back to calling her that since their youngest child was in her late thirties.

Patting Mom's shoulder, Dad continued, "He's a good doctor. Everything's going to be fine."

Mom shrugged a little, "Well, the tests showed a blockage, so we don't have a choice. It has to be done." Everything was always "matter of fact" with my mother. Her attitude about life prohibited her from complaining about the things that were out of her control. She and Dad both used to say, "You do what you gotta do."

They both focused their attention on the floor again as they waited for the nurse. Finally, Dad said, "It's nice that you came over today."

"Hey, I'm getting a day off work. Did you think I'd miss an opportunity like that?"

They both smiled and Mom squeezed my hand. I was a teacher and I thought about how far behind I'd be when I returned to work. I kept hoping that the substitute would do a good job and at least organize the paperwork.

"How are the girls?" Mom asked.

"They're fine. They only have a couple weeks left of school."

Once again, I thought about my job. This was a terrible time to miss a day of school. Everything gets so hectic at the end of the school year. I glanced at the bag of papers I brought; knowing that finding time to grade them was a hopeless cause.

Lost in my thoughts, I didn't notice the nurse approach. The next thing I knew, she was taking Mom with her and giving Dad and me directions to the waiting room.

"Let's get some coffee, Dad. Mom will be in surgery for awhile."

Dad hesitated. "I think we should stay here in case Mom needs us."

My brothers and sisters started arriving soon after Mom was taken away. He and Mom had talked to them the night before. They all got there as soon as they could, but for various reasons, they were unable to make it early enough to see Mom before the surgery.

"How's Mom?" each one asked as they entered the room, and Dad explained each time that we didn't know anything yet. "The nurse said they would come out as soon as they could to give an update." So, there we sat, all six of us, nervously waiting. Each of us lost in his own thoughts.

Finally, my brother, Lee, broke the silence. "I remember coming inside one day after playing ball. Mom had just fixed herself an orange soda. She had been painting the bedroom and was taking a short break. I asked if there were any more sodas, and Mom said, 'Here, son, take this one.' I know she wanted it, but she gave it to me anyway."

I laughed, "But you didn't give it back, did you?"

"Heck, no. I was thirsty. I told you I had been playing hard."

All of us laughed as we continued to share stories.

Then Dad's voice trembled. "No one loved their kids more than your mom. She'd do anything to make sure you kids were happy."

Once more everything was quiet.

Finally, the phone rang, and the nurse reported that Mom was in recovery. Everything had gone well, but we wouldn't be able to see her until the next morning.

Of course, we were jubilant as we all walked out to the parking lot together and said good-bye.

Dad walked to his car. His slow gait showed how tired he was.

"Dad, why don't you stay at my house tonight? Then you won't have so far to drive."

"No, I rest better at home, in my own bed. I'll be all right. Quit worrying. I'll be all right."

Since his mind was made up, and I knew there was no reason to argue about it, I threw my bag of ungraded papers into the car and settled into the seat. We had good news, but I gripped the steering wheel and felt like crying. It had been such a long, stressful day.

I couldn't stop thinking about how my parents had suddenly gotten old. I turned on the radio hoping the music would drown out my thoughts. No doubt, first thing in the morning I was going to the hospital. I needed to see my mother.

The next day, I arrived at the hospital still carrying my bag of papers, hopeful that I could grab an hour or so of free time to grade them. Dad was already there waiting for me, grinning from ear to ear. "Mom is sitting up," he said. "She waved at me awhile ago. We can't go in again for another hour."

Three hours later, Mom was still sitting up. The nurse said that they were going to transfer her to a room as soon as they had one available.

"Are you getting tired, Mom?" I asked. Then I noticed that her feet looked swollen and were turning blue. Before Mom could even answer, I got a nurse and asked her if Mom should lie down.

"Oh, she's fine, honey, but we'll lay her down for awhile. They should have her room ready soon."

We spent several more hours anticipating the move from intensive care. Finally, about 2 o'clock, they transferred Mom.

After visiting awhile, I promised Dad that I would sit with Mom if he went home to rest. He finally left, and I took out my papers to grade. I hoped Mom would sleep, so I could get some work done.

I pulled over a table and spread out my work. Mom had closed her eyes to rest, so I stopped talking and quietly graded.

Shortly after I started working, though, Mom opened her eyes and said, "You know, my head doesn't hurt, but it feels funny." I'll never forget that she raised her hand to her head and then started slurring her words. The next thing I knew, her eyes looked odd, and I couldn't understand her.

I called the nurse who immediately announced that Mom had a stroke and then left the two of us alone in the room. I guess she went to call someone, but it seemed like an eternity that I stood there with Mom-helpless and afraid. I held her hand and kept repeating, "I love you, Mom."

I stood frozen beside her bed, unable to think. I couldn't figure out what to do, but I kept expecting the nurse to return.

Suddenly, Mom started choking, and I started screaming for help. They hurried in and rushed her to surgery. I followed them, crying and praying. I was certain that I had lost my mother forever.

The next thing I remember, someone guided me into a waiting room where I sat alone thinking about what had happened. I stared at my bag of papers and wanted to rip them apart. I should have been watching Mom closer. I should have insisted they put her to bed long before they did. Why did I let the nurse leave?

I think I knew that none of what happened was my fault, but I couldn't shake the feeling that I should have done more. I was right there when it happened. Surely there was something I could have done to prevent it.

I called each family member and repeated the same story over and over again. Everyone came back and we somberly waited for news. Dad sat completely still except for his hands. I noticed they were trembling. I'd never seen him cry, but I somehow knew that he was on the verge of tears.

Then he patted my knee and got up. I watched him move over to a chair in the corner, get down on his knees, and pray. I didn't move, but I closed my eyes and asked God to watch over them both.

Mom survived the surgery. The stroke didn't take her life, but it sure changed it. She was paralyzed on the left side, unable to sit, unable to walk, and unable to reason. The nurse explained that she would have therapy to help her relearn to sit, but she would probably never walk again.

That night I began mourning the mother I once knew, but I soon began to admire the tenacity of the mother who survived.

For several weeks, Mom endured intensive occupational, physical, and recreational therapy. Slowly she began to regain strength, but sitting up was still a tremendous struggle for her. Her balance was severely impaired. Still, she persevered, not once giving up or refusing to try her best.

Eventually, at Dad's insistence, we took her home instead of placing her in a nursing home as the doctor had suggested. Although all of us were cognizant of the struggles ahead, we felt Mom would progress better at home. We had to use a board to slide her from the wheelchair to the car since she still had no ability to stand, but she and Dad beamed as though she had made the transfer herself.

The doctor arranged for a physical therapist to make home visits three times a week, even though, he continued to suggest that we put her in a nursing home. He still didn't believe she would ever walk again, but it was evident that Mom believed she would.

It seemed like every day she called with news of her progress. Every day she was able to do something she couldn't do the day before. When the therapist left each day, Dad continued the therapy. Of course, we all helped when we could, but Mom and Dad were relentless in their efforts to help her regain strength and learn to walk to walk again.

After a couple months, the therapist was able to use a belt around Mom's waist to help pull her to her feet and swing her around to a chair. Then she taught her and Dad how to make a transfer from the wheelchair to the car without a board.

What a celebration that was! Dad drove her to everyone's house. I've often tried to imagine the joy she and Dad must have felt. Their smiles said everything. We gathered around the car to visit since we were afraid Mom would tire if we transferred her too many times. That didn't matter, though. For the first time in months, Mom was able to get in the car and go.

Dad and the therapist continued to help Mom strengthen her legs. Eventually, she was able to walk with a cane-at first just a step or two, but eventually from the house to the car. She had accomplished what many professionals had considered impossible.

I heard once that miracles and opportunities are sometimes missed because they come disguised as hard work. My family definitely witnessed several miracles as Mom progressed. We learned to laugh to keep from crying, to look for little successes in order to keep moving forward, and to count our blessings. Miraculously, we not only survived; we grew stronger than we were before.

I'll never understand why my mother had to suffer so, but I do accept that because of her stroke I learned to appreciate the strength of character and determination that my parents possessed. Neither she nor Dad gave up when life was tough. Instead, they clung to each other and drew strength from their relationship. They taught me that all things are possible when you believe.

When I think about my legacy, I proudly think of my parents sitting in the hallway of Missouri Baptist Hospital, looking so fragile and small, but facing their fears. They drew strength from each other to make the best of what life dealt them. Throughout their lives, they demonstrated love, strength, determination, and hard work. Their lives may have been simple, but my legacy is rich.